Baby Talk
by allthingsdecent
Summary: <html><head></head>This one came from a prompt: What if House really did switch out Cuddy's birth control pills and she got pregnant? Sacre bleu!</html>


**This fic comes from a prompt from my pal Anne (aka MystryGAB): What if House really did switch out Cuddy's birth control pills and she got pregnant? **

**This fic is also a birthday gift for Z, my muse, my sister from another mister, my nagger, my personal navigation system, my free-boobin' spirit guide, my partner in Vine, and, basically, half the reason why I still churn out these fics. So if you see her around these internets, wish her a happy birthday, dammit! **

"House, I need to talk to you," Cuddy said, barging in on the differential.

"So talk," House replied.

"_Alone_."

"Ruh ro," House said, Scooby-Doo-style. He turned to his team. "Go get me some Scooby Snacks."

"I literally have no idea what that means," Thirteen said.

"It means he wants us to get a patient history, a CAT scan, and a full blood workup," Foreman explained.

"Duh," House said.

"Wow," Thirteen said to Foreman. "You _have_ worked for him for a while."

"_With_ him," Foreman corrected—as House snorted loudly.

The team shuffled out.

"What can I do you for?" House said, crossing his legs and putting his feet up on a spare chair.

"I'm pregnant," Cuddy said.

House jerked up so quickly, his legs got tangled together and he nearly knocked over the chair.

"What?"

"And it's your fault," she continued.

Collecting himself, he said, "I know you haven't practiced medicine in a long time, Cuddy, so maybe you forget how these things work: I can't be the baby's father from the sex we had 25 years ago."

She rolled her eyes a bit.

"It's your fault because you switched my birth control pills for placebos, remember?"

His face went white.

"Oh….shit," he said.

"Yeah, shit."

"Jesus Cuddy, you really can't keep it in your pants, can you?"

"That is none of your business!"

"How was I supposed to know you were going to act like some sort of cat in heat the minute I switched out your birth control meds?"

"I met a guy. He was hot. One thing led to another. _I thought I was on the pill_."

House eyed her. Then something occurred to him.

"But this is a good thing, right?" he said. "You wanted to get pregnant. You were doing in vitro. This is the more natural way. Girl meets boy at a bar—"

"Art opening," she corrected.

"Art opening," he said, studying her. "She has a few chardonnays"

"Pinot grigios, but close enough."

"Takes handsome gentleman home."

"His place."

He furrowed his brow.

"Never go back to his place, that's dangerous," he scolded.

"We met at an art opening, not a dark alley."

He gave a half shrug.

"Goes back with handsome gentleman to his place," he continued. "Has a few more drinks. Does the horizontal mamba. Gets knocked up with the miracle baby she was formerly hiring sperm banks and taking expensive injections for. It's a story as old as time itself."

"Except you're forgetting one thing," Cuddy said.

"What's that?"

"I obviously didn't want to get pregnant anymore. That's why I was on the pill."

"Why not?"

"Because I decided that I don't want to go it alone. I want to raise my baby with a life partner."

"And gallery boy?"

"27 years old, in a band, and definitely not daddy—or life partner—material."

"Cuddy, I'm shocked!"

She made a face.

"Don't be," she said.

"What band?" he said.

"What does that have to with anything?" she said.

"Just curious."

"You want to Google him!" she said.

He shrugged. "Just want to know your type. . .pretentious hipster in nerd glasses? Or muscly hair band type?"

"Forget it House."

"Or is he in, like, a barbershop quartet? Give me a clue: was he wearing a red-striped jacket?"

"Forget it."

"So…." he said

"So what?"

"You've got a problem," he said.

"_We've_ got a problem," she replied.

"There's only so much I can do to help you here," he said. "I can't bear the child for you." Then he lowered his voice, although they were alone in the room. "Are you considering. . .?"

"An abortion?" she said, pointedly.

"Well, yeah."

"Yes, that's one of the options I'm considering, obviously."

"Oh," he said.

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

"I guess we both learned a valuable lesson here," he said.

"_Both_ of us?"

"Yeah, don't mess with somebody else's meds."

"I gave you a mild case of the runs. I'm _with child_! There's a slight difference here!"

"Sucks to be you," he said.

She shook her head in disgust and stormed out.

The man was positively useless.

#####

That night, however, at around 11 pm, her phone rang.

"Hey," he said.

She sat up in bed.

"Is there a crisis at the hospital?" she said.

"No, I'm home," he said. "I'm just. . .how are you?"

"I'm…fine," she said, puzzled.

"Good," he said.

There was a long silence.

"House. . .why are you calling me?"

"I've, uh, been thinking a lot about what you told me today."

"And?"

"And I wanted to say… I actually feel surprisingly shitty about the whole thing."

"That _is_ heartening news," she cracked.

"And if you do decide to, um, terminate and you don't want to do it at the hospital for privacy reasons, I'd be happy to go with you and, of course, pay for it, too."

She smiled a bit.

"That's very sweet of you," she said.

"It's the least I can do. Literally."

"Well, I'm only five weeks pregnant, so I still have some time to mull it over."

"Mull away. Even though I didn't make you slut it up with some random poseur at an art gallery, I'll do my part to help."

"That's a beautiful sentiment, House."

"Goodnight Cuddy."

######

A few days later, he was in her office, with a banana and a bran muffin.

"I noticed you skipped breakfast," he said, handing them to her. "Unacceptable when you're eating for two."

"How did you even know that I skipped breakfast? You never arrive at the hospital before 11."

"My sources are everywhere. Now eat."

She laughed a bit, took a bite of the bran muffin.

"Happy?" she said.

"Very."

Then he reached into his pocket. "I also got you these prenatal vitamins," he said.

"House, I don't even know if I'm keeping the baby," she said.

"Well, just in case you are. . ." He pulled out another bottle and then another. "I got you a nine-month supply."

#####

A week later, he was back in her office, shuffling his feet.

"Have you given it any more thought?" he asked, cautiously.

"Any _more _thought? It's all I think about."

"So what are you going to do?"

She looked at him.

"What do _you_ think I should do?"

"You're asking me what I would do?"

"Yes."

"How the hell do I know? I'm not exactly the Father Knows Best type."

"But you're my friend and I value your advice. So what do you think I should do?"

"I think you should . . .do exactly what you want to do."

"That's very helpful, House."

"I'm serious. It always works for me."

She sighed.

"I want a baby. But I'm not sure I want it like this."

"You're not going to love the baby any less because you had it with some guy with ironic facial hair. . ." Then he paused, and added casually, "By the way, what gallery was it?"

"Nice try, House. I'm not going to tell you the gallery so you can look up the guest list and Google everyone until you figure out who I slept with."

"Just making small talk…" he said. "Anyway, like I said, you'll love the little drooler no matter what."

"I want a baby. But I have so many responsibilities here at the hospital. If I had a partner, someone to share the child-rearing duties with, that would be different. And what if it's a boy? A baby boy needs a father."

"What year is this? 1955?"

"Okay, not a father. At least a positive male role model."

"The kid'll have plenty of positive male role models!"

"Oh yeah? Like who?"

He hesitated.

"Like…Wilson."

Cuddy nodded fondly.

"Wilson is wonderful but let's face it, I'm more man than he is."

House laughed.

"Good point," he said. Then he glanced at her. "Well, there's always…me."

She snorted.

"In order to be a positive role model to a child you have to actually spend time with said child."

He shrugged.

"I could do that. I am partially responsible for it, as you are so eager to point out."

She squinted at him.

"What are you saying? You'll come over? Play ball with the kid? Bounce him on your knee?"

"Neither of those are my exact specialties," he said, eyeing his leg.

"Oh God…sorry."

He shrugged in a "don't worry about it" sort of way.

"But yeah," he said. "I could hang out with the little pooper. Teach him—"

"Or her—"

"Or _her _to appreciate the finer things in life: Call of Duty 3. Monster trucks. Eddie Van Halen's two-handed arpeggio technique."

"Valuable stuff," she said.

"The most."

She smiled at him.

"I appreciate the gesture House, but I think you ought to give it a little more thought. Babies are lifetime commitments. You can't just drop in and out of a child's life willy-nilly."

"I have no intention of doing that," he said.

"Just…think it over," she said.

"Okay," he said. "I will."

He nodded at her and went back to his office.

######

"What's up with House?" Wilson said to Cuddy, over lunch. "He's been . . .distracted lately."

She gave a sneaky smile, but didn't reply.

He squinted at her.

"What's that smile about?"

Looking down at her plate, she said, "House thinks I'm pregnant and he thinks he's responsible."

"_What_?!"

"No, nothing like that. Remember his little birth control switcheroo? I told him that I got pregnant to teach him a lesson. And he believed me."

"But you're not."

"No I am not. I am most definitely NOT with child."

"Wow," Wilson said, with admiration. "Well played."

"He deserved it! Or at least, I thought he did. I've got to tell you, Wilson, his reaction has been completely unexpected."

"Total indifference?" Wilson guessed. "Blaming you? Laughing in your face?"

"No! That would've been expected! He's actually been . . . caring. Doting even. He offered to pay for my abortion. And he told me that if I had the baby, he would serve as a father figure in my child's life!"

"Shut up!"

"I swear, he did. It was sweet."

"Gregory House doesn't do sweet."

"A week ago, I would've agreed with you. But this week has been truly eye-opening."

Wilson shook his head.

"Amazing. So how much longer are you going to keep up this diabolical charade?"

"I need to tell him soon. _I'm_ starting to feel guilty, which is not what I had in mind."

"Please don't tell him right away, though," Wilson said, chuckling. "Keep the poor bastard dangling a little longer."

#####

A few days later, House unexpectedly showed up at Cuddy's door.

"What are you doing here?"

"You asked me to think it over and I've thought it over," he said, stepping inside without being invited. "I think you should have the kid. And I'm willing to give you whatever support you need, financially, emotionally, or otherwise. I think that—"

"House stop," she said.

"I'm serious Cuddy. I know you think I'm a fuck up—and with good reason. But this is a chance to prove to you that—"

"House, I'm not pregnant."

He stopped, looked at her, stunned.

"You lost the baby?" he said. His voice was so filled with concern, she briefly considered lying to him.

"No," she said. "Nothing like that."

"You terminated?"

She looked down.

"No."

"Then I'm lost."

"House, I never was pregnant. I was just messing with you. Teaching you a lesson for switching my meds."

For a moment, his face turned several shades of red. Then he took a step back.

"I knew that," he said, with exaggerated flippancy.

"House. . ." She went to touch his hand, but he recoiled.  
>"Of course I knew! What? You think I actually wanted to play house with you? Be a daddy to your bastard kid? I was messing with you."<p>

"I'm sorry," she said. "I regret tricking you like this. It was a prank that went too far."

He swallowed hard, glared at her.

"Don't flatter yourself into thinking I actually cared about this—or you," he said, and he turned and limped quickly away.

######

"Oh God, it's a disaster," Cuddy, putting her head in her hands.

"What? You and House?" Wilson said, looking up from his paperwork. "I noticed he's gone from slightly distracted to totally insufferable these last few days."

"I told him the baby was fake and he stormed out and now he's not talking to me."

"Oh, great."

"Of course, he pretended that he knew I was scamming him all along but…"

"You don't believe him."

"No, he really thought I was pregnant. He was all in."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Any sage advice?"

"I think you both need to acknowledge what's really going here," Wilson said.

She eyed him.

"And what's that?"

"Another chapter of the neverending book I like to call, _House and Cuddy Deny Their Feelings For Each Other_."

"Very funny Wilson."

"Who's joking?"

"House doesn't have feelings for me. Well, feelings of lust, maybe."

"Oh yeah, him practically wanting to co-parent a child he wasn't even responsible for is all about lust."

She shrugged.

"So he felt guilty."

"Let me ask you something. Have you ever known him to apologize for anything? Ever?"

"Technically, he didn't apologize for this. He just kind of ….whipped into action."

"He accepted responsibility for his behavior. Does that sound like House?"

She looked down at her hands.

"I guess not. Not really."

"No, he did it because some small part of him secretly _wants_ to play house with you. He would never admit it, but he was really hurt when you didn't ask him to donate sperm back when you were doing in vitro."

"I _was_ going to ask him," Cuddy admitted. "I wussed out."

"And there you go."

"You want to know _why_ I wussed out? Because despite my attraction to House—"

"She admits it!" Wilson exclaimed. "Next up, pigs shall sprout wings!"

Cuddy shot him a look. "Shut up Wilson. . . Because despite my attraction to House, I never saw him as parent material, or even boyfriend material. But this week was a game changer."

Wilson's face grew serious.

"Then tell him that. Tell him how you really feel. Tell him that you like him. Tell him that you want to be his girlfriend. In short, tell him the truth."

She wrinkled her nose.

"And when he laughs in my face?"

"At least you'll have it out in the open once and for all."

######

That night, she showed up at House's apartment with a bottle of expensive scotch.

She steeled herself, then banged on the door.

"I'm busy," he said. "Go away."

"Please," she said. "We need to talk. I brought a bottle of Windsor. Single malt."

There was a pause—and then he opened the door. He was barefoot, dressed in a plain white tee-shirt and jeans.

"I'll take the bottle," he said, grabbing it. "You can go."

"C'mon don't be like that," she said.

"Like what?" he snarled.

"But I can finally drink now that I'm not pregnant!" she cracked, an attempt at humor.

He didn't laugh.

"Sorry," she said. "Bad joke." She peered inside. "So can I come in or what?"

"Is 'or what' an actual option?"

"No."

He sighed.

"Then come in."

She stepped inside, walked over to his bar, poured two generous glasses. Then she handed him one.

"I feel like a jerk," she said. "I came here to throw myself on your mercy."

"Not necessary. You played me, I played you. It's what we do."

"It was different this time and we both know it."

"We do, huh?"

"Yes."

He took a somewhat angry swig of his scotch and clenched his jaw.

"That was actually a pretty shitty thing to do, Cuddy," he said.

So he finally admitted it.

"I know," she said, her voice softening. "I thought it was just a continuation of our game. But I clearly took it too far. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Not until I get my revenge," he said.

She chuckled grimly.

"I am _so_ fucked, aren't I?"

He smiled at her, despite himself.

"You're toast."

She laughed, then sat down on the couch and pat the cushion for him to sit next to her. Much to her relief, he did.

She took a deep breath.

"House, I sometimes wonder why I like you so much…" she said.

House grabbed the bottle of Windsor, held it up to the light.

"Exactly how much of this stuff did you have to drink before you got here?" he cracked.

"I'm serious," she continued. She was emboldened by her scotch, and by everything Wilson had said to her that afternoon. "I used to think that maybe I liked you because I just have horrible taste in men. Or because I'm a glutton for punishment. Or because I'm one of those women who only falls for guys who are unattainable."

"Which is it?" he said, with mock anticipation. "I'm dying to know."

"The reason I like is you, House, is because you're actually pretty. . .incredible."

He looked down.

"I take responsibility for my mistakes," he said. "That doesn't exactly qualify me for a Nobel Peace Prize." He was trying to act cool, but she could tell he was pleased with her compliment.

"You were everything I could've asked for this week. Supportive, caring, present." She took his hand. "You were actually kind of…perfect."

He didn't reply, but let her hold his hand. They sat that way for a while on the couch.

"House, there's else something I need to tell you," she said.

"Let me guess. It's a double bluff and you really are pregnant?"

She laughed.

"No. It's about when I was doing IVF treatment. Remember that time I came up to your office, thanked you for doing the injections?"

He eyed her.

"I do."

"I was going to ask you to donate sperm that night. I . . .chickened out."

"I knew it," he said, almost to himself.

"What would you have said?"

He locked eyes with her.

"I would have said yes."

"Wow," Cuddy said. For a moment, they both sat there in silence, contemplating what might've been. "So where do we go from here?"

"I don't know," he said. "What about gallery boy?"

She rolled her eyes.

"There is no gallery boy! A total figment of my imagination. You could've Googled him all day and come up empty."

"I actually did Google him all day," he admitted, with a sheepish smile. "I studied the guest lists of every gallery opening within a 50 mile radius. I had narrowed it down to a wedding singer from Atlantic City and a DJ from Trenton. Neither seemed your type."

"You're right," she said, smiling at him. "They wouldn't be my type."

"No?" He cocked an eyebrow, liking where this was going.

"You see, I have a very specific type."

"I'm all ears."

"Tall. Brilliant. Unshaven. Walks with a limp." She bit her lip.

And with that, simultaneously, they lunged for each other.

There was something eager, feverish, about their kissing—like children impatiently unwrapping Christmas gifts. House's hands roamed her body possessively, reaching under blouse, groping for bare skin. She moaned a bit when his hand found her breast. His beard was rough against her face, his breath hot, his tongue soft but firm as it swirled in her mouth. Cuddy couldn't remember the last time she had been this turned on.

"Bedroom?' she managed to gasp, as House's mouth went between her breasts and his hands rode up her skirt to her ass.

"God yes," he said.

"And before you ask," she giggled. "I'm on the pill."

THE END


End file.
